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|Vang Three Claws||
Posted: Apr 17 2005, 03:10 PM
NPC, Skaven Warlord
Member No.: 34
Joined: 19-March 05
The Chronicles of Vang Three Claws
The Arrival Series:
Rise of The Vermintide, Part I (link)
The Adept, Part II (link)
The Spoils, Part III (link)
Trainees, The Arrival Series, Part IV
Pawed By Vaprak
The shadows wrapped Sclaw’s wiry frame like a shroud. The head assassin of Clan Thunderpaw was concealed in the corner of the burrow motionless and silent.
Plain as the whiskers on your muzzle the Warlord, the MARK – Sclaw reminded himself, sat behind his desk pawing through piles of parchment. The mark had no idea what was about to hit him.
Scanning the burrow, Sclaw quickly detected the trio of Eshin Adepts also concealed therein. They had arrayed themselves well to defend their Warlord from an attack through the door, but had neglected the other avenues of approach. They would learn the error of their ways all too soon.
Without warning, four throwing stars lanced down from the ceiling. The first took the Warlord in the forehead, sending him crashing over backwards in his chair. The other three struck within a whisker’s breath of each of the three Eshin Adepts. Given the angle of their flight, they must have come from the ventilation shaft.
As the Eshin Adepts reacted to the death of their charge, Sclaw stepped from the shadows.
“ENOUGH!,” Sclaw shouted.
The three Adepts halted instantly and turned to face the assassin, heads lowered.
“You, you, and you-you are dead-dead!,” rasped Sclaw pointing a clawed finger at each in turn. “Even worse, your massster is dead-dead!” Sclaw exclaimed gesturing toward the desk.
A black clad form flew down from the ventilation shaft, landing nimbly behind the Adepts near the body of the fallen target. The figure crouched and retrieved the throwing star from the skull of the dead rat.
“Any you-you,” hissed Sclaw, pointing his claw accusingly at the figure. “Did you have to kill-kill another ssslave? It’sss hard enough to get them to sit-sit at the desk for thisss.”
The black clad form of Venator, assassin of Clan Psalter, eyed the Adepts, then turned his attention to Sclaw. Dust and flecks of dried blood fell from Venator’s matted fur as he shook the ventilation shaft dirt from his body. Murder shone from the hunter’s eyes as he replied, “Be glad I did not kill-kill them all. They should all be dead-dead. They are weak-weak and foolish.”
Sclaw let out a deep sigh. Venator was right. The Adepts were not ready. They would not be punished for their poor performance. Their training alone would be punishment enough. In all likelihood, only one would survive to serve The Network. Such was the way of things.